Circles
by Enkida
Summary: The problem with running in circles is that you always end up where you start. Post DoC: Yuffie, Vincent, Shelke and their strange geometry. COMPLETE
1. Circles

_**AN:** This is a short drabble that I whipped up to sort of break through some writer's block I was having on another story. It's kind of pointless. Canon "Dirge of Cerberus" - verse. Vincent x Shelke, if you squint hard enough. It's complete - I think. I don't have time to start another full-length story right now!_

_Standard disclaimers apply - all fun, no profit, don't sue me, etc._

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**Circles**

She watches him ruffle her hair, and feels her face drawing up into a scowl. Tifa is looking at her funny again, that half-confused, half-knowing look, and she quickly smoothes her expression into a more familiar smirk, sipping coolly at her drink. Iced tea, that's all it is - Tifa knows better than to give her anything with more punch than caffeine - but she savours it like it could be the most potent mixed cocktail the Seventh Heaven has to offer.

There's another quiet murmur from the corner, and Yuffie watches Vincent almost smile from the corner of her eye. She winces and takes a deeper gulp of her iced tea, not for the first time wishing that it WAS alcoholic. She has never managed to make Vincent almost smile. She has managed to make him wince, groan, glare, mutter, mumble, sigh, brood and complain. Never that particular twitching of the lips, however, nor the strange glitter that sometimes lights up his blood-red eyes.

Shelke smiles, and for a moment Yuffie is insanely glad that the small girl's mako-weakened body will never grow into adulthood - a petty victory of sorts. Then she remembers that the kiss of time will also never land on Vincent, and her moment of triumph shrivels up and falls away - she can feel herself getting older, while Vincent is the same as ever. Soon, she knows, she will be older than Vincent - and he will be the child, while she plays the role of the responsible adult.

Still, she wonders what it would take to make Vincent notice her. A dip in a mako stream, maybe. Another attack by Nero, perhaps - too bad he's dead now. Maybe another near death experience - many scenarios run through her head, all quickly discarded. Yuffie might be a drama queen, but she's also always been the star of her own show. It would be humiliating to take the role of a damsel in distress now, of all times, and she's sure he would notice something was off.

Shelke laughs again, quietly, and Yuffie briefly reconsiders her position.

"Hey," a quiet voice interrupts her, and Yuffie looks up to see Tifa watching her carefully. "Are you okay?"

Yuffie puts her drink down solidly and redirects her attention completely on the nosy bartender. "Would you believe me if I said yes?" she asks irritably.

Tifa sighs and puts the glass she has been polishing away carefully. "You know, if you ever need to talk..." she trails off. Her eyes flicker briefly over to the window table where Vincent and Shelke are seated, before returning to Yuffie. The message is unspoken, but very clear. Tifa knows what it feels like. She knows what it is to be the other woman, the third wheel. It doesn't matter if Vincent and Shelke will never have anything more than their strange symbiosis - Lucrecia's memories fuelling an unrequited love - Cloud never really had Aeris, either. It doesn't change the fact that they are both, for all intents and purposes, officially spoken for.

Yuffie personally thinks the world would be a better place if both men would just stop listening, but that is neither her decision, nor Tifa's. Still, she reflects, as she meets the other woman's knowing gaze and gives her a weak smile, neither can she stop hearing the tune set in her own heart.

"Don't you just hate it when you get a song stuck in your head?" Yuffie says conversationally, taking another long draught of her tea.

"Hmm," Tifa agrees, reaching for another glass. "Sometimes all it takes is a distraction to help get it out of your head," she offers helpfully. Tifa has a whole houseful of distractions, now. The children that run in and out of the bar constantly are part of the reason she doesn't serve anything but iced tea during daylight hours.

Yuffie twiddles her thumbs together and considers Tifa's words. Reeve has been a good distraction for the most part - there's always something to do for the WRO, and it really was quite a boost to her ego when he named her head of the Intelligence Division - all the jokes she had to weather from Reno notwithstanding.

There's another low rumble from the corner, and unconsciously Yuffie identifies the unfamiliar sound as yet another new facet of Vincent - one of many that have been slowly unearthed, once again by Shelke. It's a laugh - or the closest he might ever come to making one. She winces into her drink.

"I'll get back to work soon," Yuffie promises Tifa, silently wishing the other woman would leave her alone. Yes... there'll be another mission soon enough, another chance to get away from Edge, another chance to get on with her life and live it the way she knows she's supposed to, alone and independent. But for now, she sits and sips her tea, watching the odd pair sharing the booth, the sunlight and the connection that she will never be able to have from the corner of her eye.  



	2. Squares

**_AN:_**_ Because I'm still trying to get the Ultima Weapon so I can unlock DoC character design files. Because I can't leave well enough alone. Because I don't do emo depression fic all that well. Oh well. Vincent x Shelke. Vincent x Yuffie if you squint. Again, I think this is complete. I'm still not entirely sure, though._

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**- Squares -**

She called him a _square_, and for some reason it bothers him. Perhaps because the title is so apt; he is all corners and hard edges. He does not adapt well to change. Ever since he lost Chaos, he has felt a need to define himself and his boundaries in neat, carefully measured rules. She doesn't understand that he cannot be anything other than square, and she resents him for it.

"Vincent Valentine," Shelke says to him quietly, and he pulls himself out of his musing to regard the girl before him. She lies there, so fragile and white, fading slowly away. There are no more mako treatments, and her body is crumbling from the inside out. Reeve has been working desperately to save her, to give her the chance at something like a normal life, but they both know this is nothing more than a formality. Shelke will never be normal. The best she can hope for is to be _more than a shadow._ He knows it is something that she wants to achieve before she dies; like himself, she is also a square. She needs to have her borders and boundaries defined, lest she lose herself in Lucrecia's memories. She is not Lucrecia, and yet, he still feels a sharp twist in his chest at the thought that she might die and leave him behind, once again.

He does not adapt well to change.

"You are thinking of her," Shelke says, her tone neutral. Even as she has rediscovered herself and her emotions, she has never learned to express them with the cadence of a normal human voice. It is only when the memories overwhelm her that a tremble of emotion enters her tone; even then, it is suspect, for neither of them really know if Lucrecia's emotions are really her own. She is looking at him now, however, with her own eyes and her own thoughts - as she dies, she is Shelke, nothing less and nothing more.

Vincent opens his mouth to deny her; for once, he has not been thinking of Lucrecia. Strange, that she would make such a mistake - he had thought that they knew each other too well.

"Not Professor Crescent," Shelke clarifies, and he realizes that she does know him well. Her eyes flutter closed, and though her face remains passive he can almost palatably feel the emotions that wash over her. _Regret, frustration, jealousy._ She is also nineteen, but she will never know anything but childhood. The woman she knows he is thinking of is everything she can never be. "What did Yuffie say to you?" she asks delicately.

He hesitates, and already this is a sign more telling than any words; he feels guilt, but Shelke's eyes open and demand a response from him. "She called me a square," he admits with a faint smirk. "She wouldn't let me come with her."

Shelke's eyes drift to the ceiling overhead. "Do you think Yuffie's mission will be successful?" she asks, her voice carefully devoid of any expression.

"Reeve is optimistic that she might find something," he tries, but she seems not to hear him. He has never lied before, and he cannot start now. Corners and hard edges only know how to offer fact, not comfort. "Omega destroyed nearly everything in Deepground, and AVALANCHE decimated what little remained," he finally replies. Something heavy within him settles as Shelke closes her eyes; it is acceptance, an acknowledgement of the inevitable.

"Then I will die," she says calmly, and he feels as though another piece of himself is dying with her, all over again. He wonders how many times he will have to die for the people he cares about. He is certain that in some cosmic reckoning, he has already overshot the quota by a couple of lifetimes. _Penance_ indeed. "She bothers you," Shelke observes. Then her lips twist slightly with a hint of _something._ On her normally expressionless face, it's an almost shocking change.

"I am worried about you," he says quickly; it is unusual for him to be so blunt.

"It's alright, Vincent Valentine," Shelke says, and for all their closeness, for all their understanding, he knows she will never say just his name. It is a step too close, too intimate for her to take, particularly with the memories and feelings of another woman in her head.

In contrast to Shelke's unsettling formality, Yuffie had always insisted on calling him "Vince." Previously, it annoyed him to no extent; ever since defeating Omega, however, she has taken to calling him "Vincent" or sometimes even just "Valentine." She drawls out the syllables like a joke, or perhaps an insult, but even with her familiar tone he can hear the distance which has crept between them. He had always thought that being released from the curse of Chaos would bring him closer to others - it seems that is not the case.

"You should let her," Shelke says quietly, and again there is that hitch in her words, the suggestion that there might be something more to her advice. Her eyes are closed once more, and he thinks he might see tears gathering at their edges. He looks away, uncomfortable, feeling suddenly like an unwelcome voyeur. A small hand reaches for his, grasps it weakly. "It is what she would want."

He wonders who she is referring to. _Yuffie? Lucrecia? Herself?_ Perhaps all of them. It doesn't matter, he concedes as he returns the touch, covering her delicate fingers with his sharp, metallic talons.

"There'll be time enough for that later," he finally answers her, and when he looks up, she is smiling at him. He thinks he might feel his heart beating faster, even as the dull pain in his chest spreads.

"Yes," she breathes with relief, and gives his hand a small squeeze. He knows that neither of them will ever be able to say it, but their relationship is understood - they align perfectly, a beautiful, harmonious parallel. Even so, they will never touch, never reach into one another, for they are both the same - smooth planes and hard edges.


	3. Formless

_**AN:** Ah. AAAAH! By now all of you should be wearing glasses, so I guess you don't have to squint to see the Vincent x Yuffie.  
_

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**- Formless -**

"I didn't find anything, Valentine."

His internal wince does not translate into anything more than a slight narrowing of his eyes; he has been conditioned too well to express any sort of real emotion to others. In contrast, Yuffie's face is an open book. She does not look particularly sorry to be delivering this news to him. Then again, she doesn't look particularly pleased to see him, either. She looks dishevelled, tired and vaguely upset. He wonders if he should have waited to greet her; she has only just returned to Edge, and lines of weariness are beginning to draw grooves in her youthful face.

"I have to report to Reeve," she says, and this time he can hear the fatigue in her voice. It bothers him and he knows that she wishes him to leave. Honestly, he also wishes to leave, but he made a promise to Shelke, and it is one he knows he must keep. He steps into her path deliberately and for a moment, he can see that she is considering to punch him out of her way. All too soon it crumbles into resignation; a foreign look on the normally spirited ninja. He has never seen her direct that look towards himself before; with a start, he realizes she has given up on him in some way; another bitter reminder of just how much their relationship has changed. He had always assumed that capitulation was a foreign concept to her; he does not like the concept that perhaps he is the responsible for finally breaking her.

"Wait," he commands, and she does, though he can plainly see that she hates herself for listening to him. "… even if you had succeeded, it is already too late."

Instantly the tension drains from her tiny body; she was prepared for a confrontation, but is now suddenly faced with something much worse – resignation, acceptance and worst of all, failure.

"So then Shelke…" Her voice breaks as she tries to finish the sentence.

He nods to her. "Two weeks ago," he says, and his own voice is steady. He already said his goodbyes when she was still there to hear them. There is regret, of course, but there is _always_ regret. He has more than a lifetime of practice to grow skilled in dealing with it.

"Oh," Yuffie whispers, and her voice trembles precariously. He knows they were not close; the two girls had nothing in common and even less to like about each other. But Yuffie has always been passionate about both life and death; he is not surprised to see the tears which had begun to build at the corner of her eyes spill over onto her cheeks. She cries easily, unlike Shelke; he has learned to devalue her deluge of tears, for he knows they are common.

"… Vincent, I'm so sorry," Yuffie chokes out between sobs.

He looks at her, surprised. She has used his first name, and this time without the usual trace of sarcasm. So these tears are for him? He cannot stop himself from asking out loud. "Why?"

Her sobs stop almost instantly, and the look she directs towards him would make him flush with shame, if his body still had the ability to flush.

"Didn't you love her?" she asks as though he is a simpleton, and he does not know how to answer her. The look she gives him is penetrating and uncomfortable, and he finds he has to resist the urge to flinch beneath it.

After a few moments, the stare lessens and turns inwards. "Even though we never… well, I mean I spent a lot of time with Shalua before she… I guess I felt like I knew her, y'know?" She takes a messy swipe at her face; it does little to dry her tears and only serves to smudge the dirt around the corners of her eyes. They regain their focus when she looks at him, sharp and accusatory. "Anyway, you'll never let on how you feel, so I guess I have to cry for both of us," she explains. She is resentful, he realizes; she does not want to have to carry his sorrow for a girl she never knew and did not like. But she is Yuffie, and she can do no otherwise.

"I... apologize," he offers uselessly, and she sniffs in annoyance at him.

"Yeah… whatever, Vince," she says finally, rolling her eyes even as a few more tears track messily down her face.

Inside, something inside of him unclenches slightly, and his breath leaves him in a soft whoosh. The weight which he carries remains heavy within him; no amount of smiles or tears will ever relieve him of its full burden. He wonders, though, at how much the utterance of a simple nickname can allieviate the overwhelming pressure. He has always thought of tears as harbingers of sorrow. Leave it to Yuffie, of course, to defy all convention.

"I will accompany you to meet Reeve," he offers, and she nods mutely, latching onto his arm for comfort. He did not offer it, but neither does he push her away. He pretends not to notice when she uses the edge of his cloak as a handkerchief, and silently resolves never again to think of her tears as common.


End file.
